Chapter 59 : Mid-winter fest

Once upon a time Mona was infallible. Mona displayed modern, global, fashionable art.  And it finished up here in Tassie which confirmed that Tassie was up to date, modern and part of a global trend.  We were eternally grateful for Mona. Mona made us part of a modern, fashionable world. And they also bought the tourists.         

Their art has never arisen spontaneously from the local community or related much to the local community.  It was always bestowed upon us from a great height and we always said thank you but now it has crossed the line. They have now giving us weird, cruel, performance art. Which we have not gratefully accepting.

Mona has changed Hobart. But we never embraced their vision. We never become creative artists.  We never embraced the obsessions of Mona with sex and death. And the pottery or water colors or music originating in Hobart are not better or worse than prior to Mona. 

Mona has now given us the Midwinter fest. Balls of flames evaporating upwards from pyramidal structures. The flames infiltrate the dark, shadowy, gloomy and obscure sky.  We walk through a field of light which delights us.  Inside the Winterfest the ambiance is light and dark. Red lights and light bulb trees overhang some beautifully, inviting tents. The gloomy, dark, bleak, areas contrast with the cheerful, sunny, optimistic, enthusiastic, light areas.   

We meet my grandson. He has bought me some good news.

Bruce: “I am wearing my invisible hat.”

I say the obvious, “I can’t see it.”

He replies, “That’s what invisible means. You can’t see it.”

I ask him, “Is it keeping you warm?”

Bruce, “Yes it is.”

The winter solstice is a time to celebrate the beginning of the sun coming. The sun bringing light and brightness. The sun causing the evil, dark to cower and hide. The brightness of the sun disinfecting and cleaning our dark, sleepy lives.

I brows the stalls and become confused. Should I go with organic, vegetarian, vegan, gluten-free, seasonal veggies, artisanal cheese, wallaby, succulent octopus, delicious kimchi, or plump oysters.

We have always enjoyed food and drinks on the docks from vans served on paper plates. We celebrated the docks and street food. Now most of Hobart is enjoying it with us.

Now I have to decide on a cooking style.  Should I try the Vietnamese, Argentina, Middle Eastern, Persian, Japanese, Spanish or India food? Should it be roasted slowly over hot coals or roasted over Mallee root charcoals.

We can choose to wash the food down with traditional, small batch and hand crafted beer, apple cider, wine or ginger beer made from local ingredients served in paper cups.

The food is creative and inspire us to different ways of cooking or different ingredients or different combinations.  The food inspires us to be creative in the kitchen.  One daughter says she is going to make pancakes with berries and salted caramel.  Another daughter is inspired by the wood fired pizza with the thin sour dough base.  

A grandchild is creatively sucking a chip and says, “That’s my best food.”

I say, “What are chips made from?”

Kay smiles and replies, “Yellow.”

I continue, “Okay what is tomato sauce made from?”

She says, “Red.”  She is just beginning her food education. This is a good place to learn about food.

And I am distracted by a noise.  The noise was originally music created by a performer who I can spy between the dark jackets. The mumbled hum infiltrates our group but doesn’t overpower our talk.

Which is all about food. I can hear words like, “I like that. They have used. That’s a strange combination. I would never have come up with that combination. It works well. I think I’ll add when I make it. I’ll try that. I love the way they have fried it. It’s delicious.”

Perhaps this just says something about my family.  We are more interested in cooking and eating than the creative arts.  Except one daughter, who talks like a politician, and says, “Dark Mofo brings a lot of money into the state.”

I am more interested in the elephant in the room which is a dead cow.   Vegetarians and vegans and animal lovers have complained about the disrespect for animals masquerading as a work of art. It is inevitable people will change their attitude to eating meat after seeing this performance about meat. The butchers of Hobart re having their activities dissected, examined and looked at.

What is this role of meat in our society? What have all the protests said about our society? What is the connection between the art and the food eaten?  Somebody says the performance is over.  Ah well moving on.

And listening to my grandchildren while sipping and nibbling I relax. Talk turns to a nude swim.   I am grateful and happy that other people are doing it.  It’s one way of saying, “I do whatever I want. Whenever and wherever I want. The weather doesn’t control me. The darkness doesn’t tell me what to do.”

We make our way along the docks to Dark Park.  Where I see something strange. An enormously large, compliant, passive, well behaved crowd of jackets, beanies and cameras trying to decipherer a few installations of light, shadows and sounds amidst buildings and passageways we previously didn’t know existed. 

What are they telling me about traditional winter solstice rituals?   What are they saying about ancient myths and legends of light and dark, birth and death? I ate and drank and don’t care.  I enjoyed the food, the fellowship, the entertainment and the crowds of happy people. That’s enough.

Alan Carlton is a former Hobart dentist. He retired in October 2015. He now spends his time running, playing tennis, gardening and writing blogs.